


The Hard Logic of Love

by toujours_nigel



Category: The Charioteer - Mary Renault
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toujours_nigel/pseuds/toujours_nigel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unlikely he’d read him wrong, but these mistakes did happen. “No, Spud?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hard Logic of Love

Within, the house looked still perfect for Spud, warm and restrained, the debris of wedding preparations lending everything a flustered air of hasty festivities. It was easily possible to think of him growing up here, rambling off on long walks with the dog, coming back scratched and happy. Pity about the dog, but women were apt to change rapidly when they fell in love. Still, he could always find a pup for Laurie, in a while when they were settled, perhaps for Christmas. No, it would be better to wait for his birthday; yes, June would be best. He nodded firmly, half-unaware of Laurie looking at him.  
  
“Everything pass inspection, lieutenant?”  
  
He turned, a little surprised, but Laurie was grinning openly, some of the anxiety drained away. Ralph had never supposed that his naval rank seemed to Laurie a matter that in any way much affected him—he was still likelier to be cowed by the Head Boy—but the teasing irreverence was new and oddly charming. “In these present contingencies,” he said, trying not to smile overmuch, “I suppose we have to make do.” It wasn’t, by any means, a good joke, and Ralph on the moment of utterance had flinched in anticipation of Laurie thinking it a slight. But Laurie smiled back at him, eyes lit with something other than simple amusement. He must still be tight, and that would never do. “C’mon corporal, show me the kitchen.”  
   
***  
  
The larder was adequately stocked, and boasted fresh produce in addition to the inevitable cans. Laurie hovered, making suggestions about potted meat that Ralph steadfastly ignored. Eggs, there were eggs; the countryside never knew how lucky it was.  
  
“You can cook?” Laurie himself must never have, beyond brewing tea and toasting bread in school, and perhaps heating tinned soup at Oxford—the voice held a liberal dash of awe amid the sea of scepticism. How did he think Ralph had lived the last seven years, at least when on shore?  
  
“Your leg holding up?” He asked instead; better not assert any talents—it had been a while since he’d tried. Laurie nodded without thinking too much about it. Good. “Get the champagne and keep me company.” When Laurie returned he stole a quick kiss, mostly in greeting, and forced himself not to linger. Careful, careful.  
  
A moment later he smiled at the eggs as Laurie said, in a strangled voice, “Ralph?”  
  
He looked up, bracing against the counter. Unlikely he’d read him wrong, but these mistakes did happen. “No, Spud?”  
  
“Yes, Lanyon.” Not much thought at all. No point talking about it now, though; best to let him acclimatise first.  
  
“Sit,” he said, pointing at the stool on the opposite end, and rolled Laurie some vegetables to chop.  
  
 ***  
  
Night had come on fast after the glimmering twilight; like night at sea, nothing but the stars, an absolute darkness that even blackouts couldn’t help the city emulate perfectly. Half of that was illusory, looking directly from the lit fire to the sky outside—doubtless it was light enough to see by for someone who was outside.  But illusions were helpful—the illusion right now, that Spud was thinking only of him, wasn’t thinking even somewhat of Andrew, wasn’t superimposing them. Eighteen and whole, it hardly bore thinking of.  
  
He rose quickly before Laurie’s frown deepened, draping his jacket over a chair and standing for a moment with his back to Laurie, loosening his tie. The glove would have to go; it would look absurd in a little while, and it wasn’t, after all, as if Laurie didn’t know. But he found it impossible not to stick his hands in his pockets, coming back to kneel on the mattress they’d wrestled to the floor an hour ago.    
  
Laurie’s eyes went unfailingly to his hand, all the same, and then flickered up to meet his, then down again, demure.  “I should put those away,” he said, gesturing at the magnum of champagne, the half-full glasses.  
  
“Later,” Ralph said, catching the hand in his. “I’ll take care of it.”  
  
Laurie smiled, slow and somewhere disbelieving. “You will?”  
  
“Of everything,” Ralph promised, “if you’ll let me.” Laurie’s pulse quickened in his grip. “Let me, Spud.”  
  
***  
   
Laurie’s skin was cold against his, even pressed so close together. In a minute he would have to get up and feed the fire. Laurie’s hair looked hardly red at all, bleached in the stripes of moonlight shadowy in the room—like rust and dried blood, like some intricate bit of machinery left naked to survive the storms. It was past time someone cared for him. Ralph tightened his arm, swearing it was only to settle Laurie more comfortably, and in no unconscious defiant claiming.  
  
Laurie stirred, jostled by the movement. “What is it?” he mumbled. “Ralph?”  
  
Ralph kissed his nose, feeling quite absurd and utterly uncaring. “Your skin is arctic, my dear.”  
  
“Give you frostbite,” Laurie assented, and went promptly back to sleep, tucking his face against Ralph’s shoulder.  
  
He stared at the dying fire for several minutes before shifting carefully out of bed to replenish it.  
  
***  
   
Laurie walked back from the fireplace with a measured tread, catching himself on the wall and on a chair before he stood before the bed again, clearly calculating logistics. Ralph held himself in readiness to offer help but in the end he folded neatly down, curling on his side facing Ralph.  
  
“My great-uncle,” he said eventually, “the one who’s ill, he got me Gyp on my birthday. He was tiny then, just barely weaned. Mother wouldn’t let me have him in my room, so of course at night I crept down and we slept in front of the fire. He was quiet once I was there.”  
  
He was quiet for a long time, then, till Ralph thought he must have fallen asleep again. “I’d forgotten it was my house,” he said eventually, so quietly Ralph had to strain to hear him. “I’ve known for years, but it seemed impossible she would leave. It still doesn’t seem quite real.”  
  
“It must have been a shock.”  
  
“I’d always thought I’d be able to go home to her, but that’s never going to be possible now, with Straike. No, that’s not fair. It’s not her fault, I simply made it this place seem perfect while I was away—idyllic.”  
  
Ralph, feeling him on the verge of some harsh truth, said innocuously, “The war takes so many of us like that.” Bim drowning in gaiety and drugs, Scott... “It’s alright, Spud.”  
  
“I know,” Laurie said, deprecating, “it’s only, with one thing and another. I’ve  often had a feeling that there's nowhere I really belong.”  
  
"You belong with me. As long as we're both alive, this will always be your place before anyone else's. That's a promise." It was the obvious answer, surely Laurie knew as much? Perhaps he simply wanted affirmation. He couldn’t not know. But Laurie had gone still in his arms, eyes remote. “Spud?”  
  
“It’s not that I don’t love you, it’s only that... Ralph that’s too...”  
  
He hadn’t known. Not really, but now was hardly the time to dwell on it. “Spud,” he said, and had to pause to force his voice under control, “it’s alright, it’ll be alright; I’ll take care of it. Let me.” Let me take care of you tonight, Spud.  
   
***  
  
He woke briefly in the night to Laurie’s hand in his hair and offered up a quiet smile. Laurie smiled tremulously back, and Ralph passed back into slumber, his body loose in repose, his aims all achieved.


End file.
